Dungeon King: The Hidden Ruler-Chapter 66: [The Birth of a Cartel 4] Supply Chain

Virenthyre was beautiful in the way only danger could be.

The canopy-top city was held aloft by enchanted vines and archways, a structure of wild elegance and quiet menace. Its forest was immaculately trimmed—lush green gardens snaking between centuries-old stone pillars and moss-crowned buildings.

Elven craftsmanship touched every corner, but beneath that refined sheen pulsed the lifeblood of Meridian Fold’s trading empire.

This was the faction’s economic heart—the central node where supply chains tangled, high-grade gear shifted hands, and backroom deals thrived under perfumed charm.

The jungle city gleamed from its elevated platform of enchanted flora, draped in luminous moss and golden spores. Spires curved like thorns, bridges webbed between trees, and the market stalls nestled beneath the canopy like predators waiting to pounce.

Raven stood at one of the outer transport gates, cloaked in his usual summoner gear—hood up, sleeves stitched with old dungeon insignias, carrying the air of a low-profile adventurer. He had just arrived, but the first thing he noticed wasn’t the city.

It was the message.

[Theo: All sold. Not bad for a "silent auction."]

Raven’s lips curled into an almost distant smile. He didn’t type a response right away. Instead, he let the words linger while he took in the shimmering chaos of Virenthyre’s main terrace.

Above him, illusion birds sang songs that never repeated. Beneath him, the vinewalks pulsed softly with mana.

He typed back.

[Raven: I saw the guild approval too. DarkMerchant was accepted?]

[Theo: Yep. Last night. Clean and quiet. He’s part of the family now.]

Raven exhaled slowly through his nose. He didn’t say it, but the feeling settled quietly inside him:

Not bad.

He tapped open his own interface, dragging over several linked inventories. "DarkMerchant" now had full forward permissions. Frayed Ledger’s warehouse icon lit green.

He wrote:

[Raven: I’ve routed all dungeon materials directly through DarkMerchant now. Every 12 hours, a batch gets dumped into his storage—auto-forwarded to the warehouse. Should be enough for day-to-day listings.]

What he didn’t write: he’d scaled the AI farming down. Because he owned the dungeon.

Every dungeon under his control had been set to Adaptive Mode. The mobs farmed themselves only when no players were present. It made the output lower, slower—but safer.

He needed stability now.

No more spikes. No market panic. No loot overflow to make eyes turn their way.

This was a marathon. Not a sprint.

[Theo: Clever setup. Equal weight on both sides now. If anything breaks down, either of us can walk without a mess.]

There was no need to read between the lines. Theo didn’t dress it up or sugarcoat the terms—he accepted Raven’s setup as business, plain and clean.

No handshakes.

No fake loyalty.

Just two men sharing weight across the deal.

That kind of clarity? It made things move.

[Raven: Agreed.]

He crouched beside a moss-laced platform near the marketplace exit. His interface blinked, asking for first transfer confirmation. With a flick of his hand, he uploaded the package.

[Transfer: Confirmed.]

He tagged the drop:

Emberforged Ore x5

Circuit Plates x5

Stabilized Core Residue x5

Distortion Oil x5

Memory Beads x5

Hollow Sigils x5

Aggression Fangs x5

Alpha Residue x5

Stealth Fur x5

Bone Dust x5

Skeletal Shards x5

Rot Cloth x5

Scrap Blades x5

Crude Traps x5

Goblin Resin x5

Beast Core x5

Pelt Fragments x5

Alchemy Dye x5

[Raven: Basic batch. No potions or poisons yet. Working on it.]

He didn’t mention where any of it came from.

And Theo didn’t ask.

[Raven: Hang on, forgot another batch. Another drop incoming. New goods. Expect this often.]

He typed the message one-handed while weaving through a narrow terrace of hanging gardens.

Above him, crystalfruit vines drooped under their own weight, and traders passed in silent, levitating barges.

The light shifted with every breeze—sunbeams filtered through enchanted leaves, dappling his path with gold and emerald.

Illusion birds chirped overhead, singing an ever-shifting tune while scent trails of crushed blossom and arcane oils drifted in the air. Raven barely registered the beauty anymore. His mind was elsewhere.

Business first.

He tapped through his interface again, loading the next shipment through DarkMerchant’s relay. The data flickered for a moment, then settled: transfer initiated.

Theo received the notice almost instantly. He was already logged into the management window when the new inventory hit the warehouse.

His surroundings, however, couldn’t have been more different from Raven’s.

The Frayed Ledger’s stall sat buried within one of House Seravin’s inner merchant corridors—a narrow vaulted chamber where foot traffic had long since dried up.

Polished stone columns lined the walls, their elven carvings dulled by time and disuse. The light came from half-working enchantment sconces, flickering with the faint hue of amber runes.

Outside, the manor’s halls echoed with distant footsteps and the occasional ceremonial chime from the Court of Proving, far removed from the noise of commerce.

Theo liked it this way. Quiet. Unwatched. While the rest of the city tested bloodlines and built legacy, he was testing economic theory with surgical precision.

Three unfamiliar items appeared under "DarkMerchant Contribution." Each bore the faint red tag reserved for rare drops.

- Witherroot Spine x5

- Bark-Woven Core x5

- Memory Resin Shards x5

Theo hovered over the first item.

**Witherroot Spine** – *Used for crafting anti-healing debuff weapons or PvP poison blades.*

His eyes narrowed.

He clicked the second.

**Bark-Woven Core** – *Core material for defense enchantments; reacts to healing magic.*

Then the third.

**Memory Resin Shards** – *Alchemical ingredient that boosts illusion resistance or reaction time.*

Theo gave a low whistle before typing on the DM again.

[Theo: These items are hot, man. Looks solid. I’ll post them in slow—let the market breathe a bit before the next batch.]

[Raven: Noted. Next batch won’t be long. Rotate them slow. You know better than anyone how to stretch fire into smoke.]

Theo leaned back in his chair, eyes still scanning the updated item list.

He didn’t need to say much—just seeing the names and tags was enough. The market would respond. But it had to be fed right.

He opened his merchant management toolset and began categorizing the incoming batch.

Tier A, B, C, D.

Not flashy, not formal—just clean internal structure.

Tier A: the rare stuff—Witherroot, Bark-Woven, the things that glowed red in backend systems.

Tier B: blue-tier mid-market stock, dependable earners.

Tier C: filler stock for rhythm control.

Tier D: trash with a purpose.

"Even garbage has utility," he murmured.

He clicked over to his rotation scheduler and dragged the new Tier A items forward—then paused.

Not yet.

He added a 36-hour buffer. Let them sit like fine wine behind frosted glass.

Theo didn’t dump gold. He staged it like whispers. Something worth buying had to feel elusive, not abundant.

"Even gold has to breathe before it glitters," he muttered to himself, tapping in the hold delay.

It wasn’t just caution—it was presentation. These drops couldn’t look like an open faucet.

He opened another tab—an internal watchlist of buyer patterns and region inflation.

Theo smirked, half amused, half calculating.

What he was doing would be criminal in the real world. Market manipulation. Price fixing. Possibly laundering, if you counted the way loot got washed clean through a network of ghosts.

He chuckled quietly to himself.

If this were real life, tomorrow morning he’d wake up to a raid. Cops at his door. His kids watching from behind a stairwell while their cheerful, joke-loving dad got cuffed and dragged out.

But here? This was the safest felony a man could commit.

And it was fun. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

Theo scrolled again, back to the rotation forecast. He was playing smooth—no spikes, no sell walls, no price cliff. But he knew the bigger merchant guilds weren’t stupid.

Those professional-grade trade syndicates backed by streamers and e-sport teams? They lived to control markets like this.

Sooner or later, one of them would notice. Not today. Maybe not this week. But eventually?

Frayed Ledger wouldn’t be cute anymore.

Theo didn’t mind. Let them come.

Right now, he was having fun.

Let them think it’s coincidence. Let them wonder how a Tier C guild keeps dropping Tier A materials like they’ve got a grandma who crafts legendary gear in her basement and sends it to market between knitting breaks.

After all, this is his dopamine shot, slaughtering the market.

Meanwhile, across the city, Raven closed the DM window.

He didn’t linger. Before heading out, Raven opened the player activity log embedded in the dungeon map overlay. Thornspire Estate showed zero visitors.

Good.

He preferred to avoid player interference—less about dying, more about keeping his profile low. PvP inside a dungeon meant unpredictable outcomes, unnecessary exposure, and sometimes worse: attention.

His hand flicked open the map interface, eyes tracing the arc of jungle pathways and transport vines. His destination pulsed faintly—Thornspire Estate, nestled deep within the overgrowth of the Gilded Thorns.

He marked the portal.

[Raven: I’ve got things to do. We’ll talk soon.]

[Theo: Alright. Keep it clean.]

Raven walked through the rising fog of mana along the old canopy path. The terrain ahead shimmered—archways coiled in roots, wildlight motes trailing like fireflies.

At the edge of a vine-bound altar, an ancient portal bloomed open—etched in shifting runes and the quiet growl of ambient magic.

He stepped through without hesitation.

Another piece of the puzzle waited on the other side—and this time, he wasn’t just farming. He was planting something.

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